After the End

56 JUNEAU

I FLUSH THE MAP DOWN THE PLANE’S TOILET after memorizing exactly where the circle is drawn. I wash the grit off my scratched hands and pat my bloody knees with a wet wad of toilet paper. And then I make my way out to my chair and strap myself in. Necktie is watching my every move. I trade him a scowl for his leer, and he picks up a magazine so he doesn’t have to look at me.

And then we’re moving. Baldy comes back and takes the seat across from me, strapping himself in as we begin to taxi down the runway. I want to throw up. I have never left terra firma. Be strong, I urge myself. Don’t show any weakness. I cross my arms over my chest and close my eyes, like I’m settling in for a nap. Squinting with one eye, I see that the men are both engrossed in sports magazines and no longer watching me.

I have been thinking about what I could do to stop the plane. Does a plane have spark plugs? I think. But the fear that I would do something that would kill us all keeps me from trying a Conjure with the engine.

I turn to look out the window just as we are lifting off the ground at a slow incline. Parting with earth. Joining the sky. When I think of airplanes, I think of bombs being dropped from them. Missiles travel by air. Nuclear weapons are delivered by air. The mushroom clouds and green haze of radiation that have populated my nightmares since I was a little child explode like an apocalyptic Fourth of July before my eyes, and I can’t help but shudder.

I dig my fingernails into my palms and try to calm myself. And suddenly we’re in the midst of the clouds, traveling through a fog. No visibility. Just when I think I see something flickering to one side of us and wonder if brigands could have hijacked an army plane, we burst through the cloud and are floating above a sea of soft cotton. And I remember that there was no World War III. That this airplane that I am in right now, this destination I am hurtling toward, are all a part of a functioning, modern world.